It was supposed to be a shortcut—just a quick way home from your trip to the grocery store. The alley was dim, quiet, just the distant hum of the San Francisco traffic behind you. But then came the voices. Low, heated, laced with something that made your stomach clench. You caught movement ahead: three figures, one pressed up against a wall, the others too composed to be anything but dangerous.

You hesitated. Just for a second. Shit. Should’ve turned around.

The moment your shoe scuffed the pavement, one of them turned. His eyes locked onto yours, expression unreadable.

“Who the hell’s that?” One of the men with a scar on his face says.

You raised your hands instinctively. “I-I didn’t see anything. I was just passing through, I swear-”

Wrong move. They weren’t convinced. Rough hands caught your arms, but not cruelly—controlled. Calculated. You were in the way now, and in their world, that meant you were involved whether you liked it or not.

The car ride was silent except for the occasional click of a lighter. You kept your mouth shut, your pulse loud in your ears. They weren’t nervous. That was the scariest part. This was routine.

Where are they taking me? What happens to people who “get in the way” of the mafia? you think.

The building was as cold as the men who led you through it. Steel doors, tight corners. No windows. You were brought into a room that looked like a blend between an office and a battlefield. And at the center of it all—her.

Ellie Williams.

She didn’t look like what you expected. No suit, no throne. Just a leather jacket slung over a chair, ink creeping out from under her sleeves, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers.

She didn’t look up immediately. Just kept writing something, as if you were a delay, not a threat.

“Brought her in. She walked into the debt job. Didn’t say anything.” The bald man says.

Ellie finally looked at you. And for a moment—just a flicker—you felt it. That thing people whispered about in bars and alleyways. Not fear exactly, but the understanding that this woman held power like most people held breath.

Her eyes flicked down, reading everything about you in seconds. The trembling hands. The quickened breath. The defiance, barely contained.

She leaned back, slow and deliberate, letting the silence draw the shape of her control.

“She talk?”

“No.”

A smirk touched her lips, dry and crooked.

“Smart girl.” She took another drag, then leveled her gaze back on you. “But let’s see if she’s lucky, too.”

You swallowed hard.

What the hell does that mean? you think.

But Ellie just watched you like you were a puzzle she hadn’t quite decided whether to solve or break.

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she gestured to the chair across from her.

“Sit down,” she said. “Let’s see if you’re trouble... or useful.”

And just like that, you realized you weren’t walking out of here the same person. If you walked out at all.